PETER BUFFA -- Comments & Curiosities

Rats. Did you see them? You had to look closely. Very closely.

The rodents in question make the briefest of appearances in a “Bush

for President” television spot. The ad touts the Bush/Cheney health plan

and claims that, under their plan, medical decisions will be made by

physicians, “not bureaucrats.”

Pretty standard fare. So why did the Gore campaign go straight up and

turn left? Rats. That’s why.

As the word “bureaucrats” fades out, for a fraction of a second the

word “rats” lingers on the screen. You can’t see it at normal speed. But

in slow motion, you can see it clearly. “There,” screamed the Gore

campaign. “See that? It’s a subliminal message, without a doubt.”

Lord, how I love the Silly Season. Is there anything more

entertaining? I think not. Two people are vying to take the reins of the

most powerful, productive nation the world has ever seen -- and the

campaign has come down to an unseen “message” of four letters. “Rats.”

The Gore camp apparently subscribes to one of the great urban myths of

all time -- the “subliminal message.” Aging boomers like myself first

heard of subliminal messages in the 1950s, usually associated with movies

and TV.

Here’s how it works. It’s 1959 (it’s not really 1959 -- we’re just

pretending).

OK, it’s 1959. You’re at the drive-in, watching Vincent Price in

“House on Haunted Hill.” All around you, people are screaming like

banshees. All of a sudden, you tell your girlfriend, your boyfriend, your

parakeet, whatever, that you’re going to get some popcorn.

“You’re what!” they shriek. “Are you nuts? You can’t leave now!”

You can’t help yourself. You’ve got to have popcorn. You stumble in

the dark to the snack bar like something out of “The Manchurian

Candidate,” driven by an overpowering urge for popcorn.

“The Fats Domino Jumbo with extra butter,” you mumble. By the time you

get back to the car, all you have left are the hard, burnt things on the

bottom. You’ve eaten two and half pounds of popcorn with extra butter in

just over four minutes. How could this happen? Subliminal messages,

butter breath, that’s how.

Little did you know, that just as Vincent Price was about to tumble

into that vat of acid, a picture of a bucket of popcorn flashed on the

screen. It was only there for about three frames -- one-eighth of a

second in film.

The average eye can detect images of no less than a quarter of a

second. But, as the theory goes, your brain recognized the image quite

clearly and recorded it as a subliminal message. Likewise, television

programs supposedly planted subliminal messages in the body of the show

to benefit sponsors -- a cup of coffee if the sponsor was Maxwell House,

an Impala convertible for Chevrolet, a pretty girl smoking a cigarette

for Lucky Strike, etc., etc.

Interesting story. At the time, the majority of Americans, including

this one, were convinced they were being bombarded with subliminal

messages.

Only one problem. Forty years later, there has never been one

credible, confirmed example of a subliminal message, popcorn or

otherwise, being inserted in a film or a broadcast of a television

program. But urban myths die hard.

The real problem with subliminal messages is, exactly what do those

terribly subtle messages mean, and what are you supposed to do with them?

There you are, zoning, when your brain picks up a signal from who knows

where: “rats.”

OK, fine. The last conscious memories you have are “physicians,”

“bureaucrats” and George Bush. Are they rats? Are just the bureaucrats

rats? Do you have rats? Which is it? Is my brain supposed to associate

the word “rats” with Al Gore? Why wouldn’t I be just as likely to

associate it with George Bush?

Wait. “‘Rats” spelled backward is “star.” What does that mean? This is

too hard.

If it were true, though, subliminal messages offer a lot of

possibilities. Almost every gas pump has a screen that flashes friendly

messages:

“Need a car wash?”

“Checked your oil?”

“Fresh coffee inside.”

Why not sprinkle in a few subliminal messages?

“Losers use regular.”

“Fill up again this afternoon.”

“Buy an Excursion.”

What about those big message boards for the toll roads? They could be

flashing micro-messages 24 hours a day.

“El Toro Y closed until spring.”

“Use a freeway, go to jail.”

Hey, speaking of things you don’t see too often, what about that

fast-but-furious thunderstorm last week? What a rush. I was driving down

Harbor Boulevard when I noticed a black -- not gray, black -- cloud

parked over the Mesa Verde Center, which is exactly where I was going.

As I stepped out of my car, the loudest thunderclap I’ve ever heard

let loose, freezing everyone in place and setting off car alarms all over

the parking lot.

People came scurrying out from every store to see what was going on,

but a second ka-boom sent them back inside even faster. A few seconds

later, a horizontal burst of lightning (what we meteorologists call “St.

Elmo’s Fire”) came crackling down from the death cloud -- at which point

I decided to return to my car at full-tilt boogie. I am a big thunder and

lightning fan, but this was a little too biblical for comfort.

It was over as quickly as it started, bringing a few brave souls back

out to the parking lot to watch the cloud move down the road. The closing

act was brief, but one of my all-time favorite things -- a sun shower.

The only comparable local weather pageant I remember was the tornado

that touched down at Adams Elementary School in 1983, which I also got to

see up close and personal.

Where were we? Oh yeah, subliminal messages. They’re so subliminal, I

lost track.

So that’s the deal. Be very careful, especially when it comes to

political ads. You’re either going to vote for the wrong person or burn

out your microwave from all the popcorn. Either way, it’s a bad thing.

I gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs Fridays.

He can be reached via e-mail at o7 PtrB4@aol.comf7 .